


crystalline tears (the weight on your chest)

by orphan_account



Category: MindCrack RPF
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, i dont know how ao3 works and i dont even write for this fandom anymore, kinda short, this is just a gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 11:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11252700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: when he's inebriated, he hears himself apologize through whiskey lips and smoggy breath, apologize for thinking he could do this alone.





	crystalline tears (the weight on your chest)

**Author's Note:**

> listen.. i havent written jack ass for this fandom in probably well over a year. but. this ship is really worth it.  
> my tumblr is arsoniick u should peep my shit on there! ps i havent written proper angst in super long let's see what i'm still capable of doing  
> (this is pretty heavily inspired by works by shfcapb, galifreygal, and autisticaswani on tumblr!)

it's been a year and a half.

of course, not— not that he's _counting_. not that he's  _been_ counting since day one— no, of course not. with bills piling high and rent going through the roof, he has more to worry about now, he doesn't dwell on what happened a year and a half ago.

the drink in his hand and the voice in the back of his brain tell him otherwise. he wants to blame his pride, his ignorance, his carelessness for pushing these kinds of thoughts to the backburner, even when he knows it's always been his own fault.  _god_ does it take a toll on everything he does, every day of his life. everything is different now, and it's a  _bad_ kind of different. something he can't— and will never be able to— fix.

nebris has always been his own role model. conceited, of course— false, however, it isn't. he's gaudy, flamboyant, ambitious— everything he personally needs in an idol is everything he  _is_. he's always been told it'd, someday, be his downfall.

it never was. his downfall was nearly two years ago, with him half asleep in the back of the car and pakratt and arkas up front, awake as ever. nebris can recall the scene as though it was just yesterday. he takes another swig from his bottle. his downfall is all that changed his ways.

he hears their voices like echoes, the conversation nearly exact, and nebris can't tell if it's the alcohol or the memory that's giving him a headache.

pakratt and arkas up front. driving back home from a trip to the store, arkas still bouncy about all the junk food pak allowed him to purchase, pak dealing with it as level-headedly as usual. a sight nebris loves— loved, to behold: his boyfriends in their happiest state of being. their conversation was quick to turn from arkas' hyperactivity to something they'd all been equally excited about all week— the big move. as soon as pakratt uttered the words "new house", arkas was bouncing in his seat, babbling about it, how they were finally going to be homeowners, how he could  _finally_  paint the bedroom walls however he wanted. pak spoke between the younger man's sentences about how they could finally renovate the kitchen to their liking, how he and arkas could finally start that garden they'd been dreaming about for months. nebris listened to all of it, grinning from ear to ear. he'd never been happier in his entire life, in that single moment.

what was grins and laughter became shouts and cries within seconds. he remembers it vividly— the seconds before all three of them were knocked unconscious. he remembers arkas turning around to face him, ask about what he was excited for, the car jerking violently in the same second. for a minute, everything was a blur of limbs and tears and blood and sirens, then they were out cold. nebris awoke alone in a hospital room, and as soon as the apologies hit his ears, he had broken down.

a month after, he moved into the new house, alone, under the assumption that the two would've wanted him to move on. he remembers looking around the house when they were just considering purchasing it, all of them unanimously agreeing it was considerably small but they'd make it work; they always did.

he looks around now and it couldn't be any bigger— any emptier. he's surprised it's not in shambles, the only reason it  _isn't_ being the fact that he has yet to unpack half the moving boxes— even after a year. he knows what's in them and he needs absolutely none of it. they're all piled high with the belongings of his dead lovers.

nebris was quick to change his mind about them wanting him to move on. he was doing okay for the first year, on his own— a few down days and some stumbles but he was picking himself up. then things on his desk started moving when he wasn't anywhere  _near_ his desk and he was sure he was losing his mind. he never believed in ghosts, that was always an arkas thing. but what is he supposed to think when the unpacked boxes started randomly— without explanation— getting scratched up?

the thought of therapy came and went with the wind. it'd never help; he'd be told the same shit, that he needs to move on, that he's just imagining things.

he still fights with himself about that. when he binge drinks like this, he swears he can hear pak berating him, never in a condescending way, but rather in a bout of concern. he thinks it's just paranoia that causes this— even when he cries and it feels like both of them are there, crying with him. when he's inebriated, he hears himself apologize through whiskey lips and smoggy breath, apologize for thinking he could do this alone.

he prefers hearing his own intoxicated apologies to remembering that day. prefers when alcohol blurs his vision and he tries to forget it ever happened.

when he downs this drink, it feels like fire going down his dry throat.


End file.
